Remembrance
by girloficeandfire
Summary: Jorah Mormont has regrets, but so long as he also has his Queen all is right with the world.


**Disclaimer: Characters are GRRM's and his alone.**

_This was written for the lovely mrstater at the asoiaf exchange community. She deserves so much of the credit for an awesome "prompt"!_

* * *

These days, Jorah Mormont slept on a feather bed in a cool stone-walled room in the Red Keep. He wore breeches and tunics made of the finest linen, and his armor was shining steel plate without dent or rust, the bear of his house enameled in black on the breastplate.

A white cloak hung from his shoulders, a two-handed greatsword forged from dragon-fire was belted to his back, and daily he walked with the Queen of Westeros. Forever a step behind, never taking his eyes from her. Daenerys Targaryen. The Dragon Queen, they called her. The Shining Star of Westeros.

He thought the latter fit her just as well as the former. Her hair shone like a star, all silver-white, almost like a beacon that called honorable men and women to her service.

You are not honorable, he reminded himself.

_Yet here I stand._

* * *

In the heat of Vaes Dothrak, Jorah slid his thumb under the plain wax that had been used to seal the letter. His heart was thumping in his chest. They had promised that he could return home; that's what his treason to his khaleesi - no, his princess - was worth. Yet since he'd first informed them that Daenerys was pregnant, he'd found himself keeping an even closer watch on her, torn over what he'd done, over what might happen to her.

For Jorah knew now how strong she truly was. Strong, and beautiful, and without even a touch of the madness that her brother Viserys had possessed.

_Men will try to kill her,_ the letter read. _Stop them if you can._

"Seven hells," Jorah muttered. Daenerys was with her guards and her handmaidens, wandering amongst the stalls. No blades were allowed here in Vaes Dothrak...and yet...

He rushed back through the market, in search of his princess.

* * *

"Ser Jorah, my bear. You are so quiet lately," Daenerys was saying. She was smiling, but her eyes were sad. Sad for me, Jorah knew; there was no other reason for this woman to not be blissfully happy. She had tamed Drogon, as much as one could tame a dragon. She had returned to Westeros and laid waste to those who would defy her. She had become the Queen this land had needed for so very long – and her people loved her.

"Ah, it is none of your concern, Your Grace. I've merely been...dwelling too much on the past, lately." Without thinking he reached up and brushed his calloused fingertips over the scar on his cheek, the constant reminder of the miserable time he had spent away from Daenerys in Essos.

She reached up and tenderly covered his hand with her own, her violet eyes meeting his blue ones. "Your concerns are mine, Ser Jorah."

He wanted to close his eyes and lean into her touch, but instead he gently dropped his own hand from his face, taking hers with it. "Thank you, my Queen."

* * *

The fact that Daenerys had not fled as he had advised her both angered Jorah - and caused him to respect her even more than he already did. Yet few of Khal Drogo's men had felt the same way, and that had cost them more than he thought he could bear. He'd not thought he had a choice when he lifted Daenerys and carried her into the tent with the maegi...and perhaps he truly hadn't had a choice. She knew what he had done, he knew what he had done, yet she seemed to blame herself, and that...that, he nearly couldn't handle. Who was she, this child, this girl, who was at the same time the strongest woman he'd ever known, his khaleesi, his princess...his Queen...

"I know what you intend," he told her. "Do not." But she touched his face and told him that he did not understand, and in a way she was right. There was much that he did not understand - he did not understand how he had gone from informing on Daenerys Targaryen to serving her, he did not understand who this maegi was and why she'd done what she'd done, he did not understand how they could live through this, he did not understand how a woman as perfect as Daenerys could even exist.

"I understand that you loved him." Jorah choked out the words. Had she loved Khal Drogo the man, or had she loved the idea of what he could give her? You will never know. He forced himself to say the rest of what he meant to tell her - "I loved my lady wife once, yet I did not die with her. You are my queen, my sword is yours, but do not ask me to stand aside as you climb on Drogo's pyre. I will not watch you burn."

Yet she swore that was not what she meant to do, and everything in him wanted to believe her. When she stepped into the fire he thought his heart would break, and still he did as she wanted – that is, he did nothing. He watched her go and the fire singed his beard and he told himself that his tears were from the smoke and yet he stood and watched and waited, until the fire had died and he could wait no more.

And then he went after her, then and only then, and found her amidst the ashes with three tiny dragons clinging to her beautiful little body.

There were no words. Jorah Mormont fell to his knees, knowing that from now until the end of time he would worship no woman, no gods, no Queen, as he would worship her.

* * *

"Do you still miss Bear Island, Ser Jorah?"

He thought about his former home nearly as often as he thought about his Queen. This realization actually brought a smile to his face, for what seemed the first time in a long time.

"I was able to visit after we returned to Westeros, Your Grace, but...yes, truth be told, I miss it still. I miss the icy cold winds, strange as that may sound. And I miss the fresh bubbling creeks and the ancient trees. I even miss our smoky old longhall. But my place is here with you, in King's Landing."

"And I would never want to weather this place without the first of my Queensguard by my side," Daenerys smiled brightly, taking his hands in hers. "But I was thinking that some travel may be in order. It is high time I revisited the North, and with you by my side I think it would be quite an ill thing if I did not finally see the home you love so much."

"I...Your Grace...it would be an honor..." Jorah knew that he was stuttering like a fool, and he didn't understand how or why the Queen's suggestion would throw him off so. This was who she was: gracious and considerate. It was why so many of her people - most of them, in fact - loved her as they did.

"The honor is mine, Ser Jorah. I will set the plans in motion and we will leave within a fortnight. You'd best make sure to pack your warmer clothes." Daenerys winked at him, and all he could do was nod his reply.

* * *

"I will not lie to you. The way is harder than I dared think."

Jorah could no longer deny it; physically, he was weak. The wound he had taken protecting Daenerys from Khal Drogo's bloodriders had not healed properly, and what with the heat, the lack of food and water, the never ending walk through the red waste...he was not sure how much longer any of them could last, and that included himself.

Yet the outriders returned, returned and spoke of a city. Though it was a 'dead city', Daenerys did not hold to the Dothraki superstitions - thank the gods for that - and thus their so-called khalasar finally found a place to rest and recuperate. A place that offered food and good well water and shelter from the blinding eastern sun.

Vaes Tolorro, Daenerys called it - the city of bones. And the chalky white of its walls and buildings even looked like bones, but bones that surrounded life-giving things, which somehow rendered it both bleak and welcoming.

It was here that his Queen finally asked him to tell his story, here that he lay it all before her - the easy truths, the story of Bear Island and his upbringing - and the hard ones. The death of his first wife, a woman he'd loved but never fallen in love with; how he had met Lynesse Hightower and fallen in love with her beauty, somehow won her and taken her North with him...only to be met with disappointment and regret.

"What did she look like, your Lady Lynesse?" his Queen asked of him. When he turned to answer it was only then that Jorah truly saw how much Daenerys Targaryen favored the only other woman he'd ever loved, and the realization brought a sad smile to his lips.

"Why, she looked a bit like you, Daenerys. Sleep well, my queen." He bowed and left her tent, not wanting to see how she'd reacted to his words. Why did you tell her that at all, you fool man?

Thankfully, if she'd thought anything of his story or his words Daenerys did not voice her opinions. Not only that, but she tended his wound herself, and with her tender care, good fresh food and water and plenty of rest, Jorah finally felt himself becoming strong again.

"You look well today, Ser Jorah," she commented one morning, smiling warmly at him in a way that made his heart thump in his chest like that of a lusty young boy.

"Thanks to you," Jorah complimented her. "I feel nearly myself again...finally." Daenerys touched his cheek in that way she had, friendly and affectionate but only a small part of what he truly wanted from her. _Can she see right through me?_ he wondered. _Do I want her to?_

* * *

Queen Daenerys and her entourage traveled North very, very slowly. Jorah himself was itching to get to Bear Island – though he knew that it would be upwards of a month, mayhap closer to two, before they arrived at his former home. He had sent word to his aunt regarding their visit and received naught but a brief acknowledgement of his note. Though he tried not to let this frustrate him, as usual Daenerys had seen through his feeble mask when he brought Maege's letter to her.

"They do not yet know what you are to me," the Queen had insisted. "And once they do..."

"Lady Maege still desires a King - or Queen - in the North," Jorah had reminded her...though his tone was softer and less insistent than it had been all those years ago when they had lived in Essos and he had oft given her counsel.

Still, Daenerys had narrowed her eyes at him. "Lady Stark has ever been a friend to me, and she counseled her brother Rickon to bend the knee to me and my dragons...just as the North did to my ancestor hundreds of years ago. And Lady Maege should remember who the rightful heir to Bear Island is, and what a favor you've done her in choosing to be part of my Queensguard."

Jorah had not wanted to tell her that even if some of his family would have been pleased by his return - though he doubted many of them would have felt that way - these days he was more like to feel an outsider. He'd been so long away from home; even his brief visit soon after his return to Westeros had felt awkward more than anything else. Or at least, being around the people had felt that way. The place, on the other hand...

And so they trudged north, stopping several times in the Riverlands and again at White Harbor for a visit to the trade-rich Manderlys. Their tarriance at Winterfell was a short one and never meant to last - Rickon was a wild young lord and only his older sisters kept him in check. And just barely, at that, Jorah mused after they gathered some provisions from the Northern seat and then made their way toward the Bay of Ice, where they would board a ship for Bear Island.

* * *

At first he had not wanted to go to the docks of Qarth, though his Queen bid him do so...yet she had insisted, and once he arrived Jorah knew what he had to do. He passed some small coin to a merchant in return for parchment and writing implements, then found a corner in which to pen his final message to King's Landing. It had been so long since he'd written to the Spider that it took him some time to scratch out the proper ciphers, but finally he deemed it finished and went in search of a ship that was bound for Westeros.

He found one just in time, having been directed to a merchant vessel that was in the final throes of preparations to leave Qarth. It took a glimpse of his sword to convince the captain of the importance of his letter, and the last of his coin to get the man to accept the thing. "You will be paid handsomely when my message is delivered to the proper person, that I can promise you," Jorah swore.

"I will do what I can and hope that you speak the truth," the captain shrugged. "But there is news of Westeros that you should hear. Search out the ship Cinnamon Wind and her captain Quhuru Mo, for I have not the time to repeat his tales."

Though Jorah did not trust to the necessity of finding this Quhuru Mo, he decided to do so nonetheless. Daenerys had told him to bring her tidings of the Seven Kingdoms, if he could...and though his message had contained no treachery, the guilt of sending it gnawed at him anyway. He hoped that the captain of the Cinnamon Wind had information that would be worthwhile to the Queen.

Jorah found the man, of course...and heard the tale of Robert Baratheon's death, of his homeland torn to pieces by infighting. He allowed a sort of fear to grip him for a moment - what if the eunuch was dead, what if his message fell into the wrong hands? But no, Jorah reassured himself - Varys the Spider had survived several kings now, and perhaps what Jorah had written of Daenerys - not just that she was alive and had lost her husband and unborn child, but that she needed and deserved an army behind her...that she was strong, intelligent, courageous...that she had living, breathing dragons, for gods' sakes...perhaps this information would finally peak the Spider's interest in her enough for him to send for Daenerys.

Enough for him to bring her home.

* * *

The War of the Five Kings and her winter spent in exile in the bogs and marshes of the Neck had aged Lady Maege Mormont, as had the losses of her brother and her eldest daughter. Much of her stoutness seemed to have melted away; despite Jorah remembering her as gray-haired and quite a few years his elder, he was shocked to see that she had truly grown old. Again he found himself touching his face, feeling the scar that marked his cheek and told of his time as a slave. He had never been a handsome man, and he was aging as well. Yet when he glanced at his Queen she met his eyes and smiled upon him as she ever had, and for that, at least, he was thankful.

"Jorah," Maege greeted him. She was courteous and respectful, if not affectionate. When she turned to Daenerys she gave a stiff sort of half-bow. "You will forgive me for not going to my knees, I hope. I am an old woman, and it would take me some time to bend them and even more to straighten up again."

The Queen smiled, but her eyes were cold. She sees an old woman who is perhaps not as hale as she once was, but who could still easily bend the knee. Or break several bones with one good swipe of her spiked mace. Thankfully, that weapon was nowhere to be seen. Stubborn Maege may be, but she was not stupid...how else could she have survived the war and the winter and all that had followed?

"You'll have my bedchamber for your stay - I'm sure nothing else would suffice," Maege was explaining to Daenerys, but her tone was more accusatory than apologetic. Jorah almost wanted to chuckle. Say what they would about his aunt; she was a formidable woman, that much was certain. The Queen murmured her thanks and held out her hand, waiting for Jorah to offer his arm.

"You know where to go, I believe?" Daenerys said, and her mouth had an almost impish smile on it, a look she saved for those times when she knew people were underestimating her. Jorah gave what he hoped appeared to be an apologetic look at his aunt before leading the Queen to her chambers.

"I am sorry the Mormont home is so...rustic," he said when they were out of Maege's earshot.

"Oh, my bear, no," Daenerys shook her head and tightened her grip on his arm. "You love this place. I remember how you spoke of it, so long ago in Vaes Tolorro. You came from these halls as much as you came from this island, and so I love it as I love you."

Jorah forced himself to push to the back of his mind the thought that though she may love his former home, she would not love it as he wished her to do.

* * *

He was troubled, but how to approach Daenerys as to why...Jorah simply wasn't certain. Unfortunately he knew that it must be soon, for their ship had finally caught wind again and shortly it would be too late to convince her as to where they should go. Yet it must be Slavers' Bay...it must. Jorah knew that she would not like the idea, and truth be told neither did he. But the Unsullied were both the only army she would ever need...and her only hope. They would see her safe through a meeting with Illyrio Mopatis...mayhap they could even help her take back the Iron Throne.

It was late when Jorah finally forced himself to knock on the door to her quarters. He had wanted to wait for a time when the fat eunuch and his supposed squire would not be lurking about, and he was glad to find that he did not have to wake the Queen, especially as he was to give her some fairly grave counsel just now.

Though it would have been easier were she fully clothed. Jorah found it hard to meet her eyes as he talked but forced himself to do so. She was his Queen. He felt more than that for her, yes, but what she felt for him...it was hard to say. Affection, yes; and some modicum of respect. But he was no Khal Drogo.

And she is not Lynesse.

Yet that was what he loved about her. Loved, yes, loved. He loved that she had a temper, yet was somehow one of the most levelheaded people he knew. He loved her pride in who she was, what she was, but also he loved that her past had given her a small degree of humbleness...just enough to make her a good Queen. No, a great Queen.

"What if Captain Groleo refuses to change course, though? And Arstan, Strong Belwas, what will they do?" she asked, chewing on her lip. Jorah could see that she was entertaining the idea of taking his advice to confiscate Illyrio's ships and cargo to buy herself an army of Unsullied. Something in him thrilled at the idea of her listening to him, and as he stood he said the only thing he could think to say, hoping that it would be enough to sway her.

"Perhaps it's time you found that out."

Jorah didn't know what he'd expected Daenerys to say - he only knew what he'd hoped she would say, and she did just that. "Yes! I'll do it!" And then she was off the bunk, the coverlets falling away from her shoulders and pooling on the bed to reveal her in all of her glory. She was paying little and less attention to him, though, as she reached into her chest and donned a pair of sandsilk trousers, at the same time ordering him to retrieve her medallion belt and vest. Yet all thoughts of obedience had flown from Jorah's mind, and at the moment all he could think about was...was...

Before he knew what he was doing he had reached for her, his Queen, wrapped her in his arms and felt the smooth soft skin of her back under his rough and calloused hands. He held her tight against him and covered her mouth with his, and she did not tremble or struggle against him but yielded to his kiss. For several long moments her tongue moved against his, and Jorah nearly lost himself - but she never pulled away. It was he who broke their embrace, broke it because if he did not he was afraid he would take it even farther, and that would be too far - just now, at least. He let go of her and she took a step back, her eyes wary and her tone unsure as she murmured, "You...you should not have..."

He didn't know what she was going to say and could only think that he did not want to know - so he didn't let her finish. "I should not have waited so long," he replied, his words heavily weighted with truth. Yet when he offered himself to her, she only turned her back and softly asked that he leave her. The request was a knife in his gut, but he heard in her voice that she was unsure of it.

And he had seen her breasts when she had backed away, seen them before she thought to cover them with her hands...her nipples pink and hard with arousal from his kiss.

So it was that, perhaps stupidly, Jorah allowed himself to hope.

* * *

As they broke their fast the first morning on Bear Island, Daenerys asked him if he would show her some of his favorite places there.

"Of course, my Queen," Jorah agreed. He felt half a boy again, being back here, Daenerys wanting him to show her the places he loved. Even Maege's disapproving stares and grunts seemed more amusing to him now than anything else. He tore the slab of capon on his plate in two and drizzled honey over it and the hot fresh bread they had been served. It was far less sumptuous fare than they were used to in King's Landing, yet it served to make him feel even more at home. A relief, considering how out-of-place he'd felt on his previous visit to Bear Island.

"You seem...happier...already," Daenerys mused, laying her warm, soft hand over his large, rough one. "Did you sleep well last night?"

"I did," Jorah replied. It was the truth, and though he had dreamt, for once his dreams had been something like pleasant.

Though he dared not tell her why, of course.

* * *

His bedchamber was large, airy, comfortable, and located in the same pyramid that housed Daenerys herself...yet still Jorah knew that he was more her captive than her counselor just now. He had an overwhelming sense of guilt in regards to his betrayal of her, yet he could not push aside his proud nature. And he didn't feel that he should have to do so...after all, he had crawled through shit-filled sewers to win Meereen for her.

You must explain what you said in the message you sent from Qarth, something inside him insisted...yet he found himself wondering if Daenerys would even believe him.

She was still the same girl he'd met so long ago in Pentos, and yet she was also different. This quest of hers to free every slave in Essos...she may deny her gentle heart, but just now it was on display for all to see. True, some of the things she was doing were not gentle in the slightest - yet she could have turned her back on the supposed plight of the slaves and made for Westeros as he felt she should have. Of course Jorah knew that freeing the slaves was the right thing to do, but that did not mean it was the best course of action for Daenerys to have taken. And though they were now closer to home than they'd been in Qarth, he could not help but feel that so long as they remained in Meereen they were yet farther away than they had ever been before.

And what good would any of these former slaves do her? Aside from the Unsullied they were simply more mouths to feed, and Daenerys certainly could not mean to bring them with her to Westeros when she finally found a means of returning hence...

Lost in his thoughts as he was, Jorah was surprised when Strong Belwas shoved open the door unceremoniously and announced, "Belwas is ordered to bring the Queen's knights to her."

Knights. So he would face Daenerys with Barristan by his side, Barristan who had betrayed her, betrayed her entire family, in ways simple Jorah Mormont never could have. The situation disgusted him, yet Jorah merely focused his gaze on the floor, refusing to look at Belwas or Barristan as the huge eunuch led them to the Queen's audience chamber. Only when they were at the foot of Daenerys's Meereenese throne and Belwas had released his hard grip on his arm did Jorah look to his Queen, clear his throat, and begin speaking. "Khaleesi - "

But she did not let him continue. Instead she did not let him speak at all; even told him to be quiet when he tried to do so. And first she confronted Barristan, who with the smooth courtesies and high-minded flattery of a true, noble Southron knight won Daenerys's trust.

Until she turned to him and said, "And now you, ser. Tell me true," Jorah had not known how difficult it would be to do just that. He spoke, she interrupted, he spoke again. He was no fool; he could see the anger in her eyes, and the hurt. He knew that she felt he'd betrayed her, and though he wanted to tell her that wasn't the case he could not find the proper words.

So in the end, he said the only thing that came to mind, because it was true and it needed to be said…because if saying this would not change anything, than she was truly lost to him. "Daenerys...I have loved you." But when he reached for her she slapped his hand away, her chest heaving in her anger, and then as if something out of a dream Strong Belwas had Jorah by the arm and was dragging him from the room, and though Jorah wanted to fight, fight for his position, fight for his love, fight for his Queen...it seemed that the ability to do so had simply drained out of him. He stumbled away from her, lost, empty, perhaps even a bit afraid...and when he glanced back one last time, just before the doors to the chamber slammed shut and separated him from her for true, Daenerys was not looking after him, but rather off to the side, her jaw set so stubbornly that he knew there would be no changing her mind.

* * *

"Your cousins are conspicuously absent," Daenerys noted when Jorah collected her from her chambers for their exploration of Bear Island. "They did not greet us upon our arrival, nor were they at the table this morning."

"Maege mentioned that Alysane is sailing with Asha Greyjoy these days. I suspect the others are around, but Lyra and Jorelle are likely trying to keep Lyanna busy. She's a bit of trouble, that one," Jorah replied, his mouth quirking into a smile when he remembered the response Lyanna had sent to Stannis Baratheon when that man had sent out letters demanding that all northern lords bow the knee to him.

The Queen harrumphed in displeasure. "Northerners."

"Your Grace...you and I are nothing but names to these girls. They have never had the pleasure of your company, though they know the Starks. As for me...well, Alysane may know me, Lyra and Jorelle may have a few memories of me, but Lyanna...she was half a babe when I fled Bear Island all those years ago." He shrugged. "It would be nice to have the chance to know them, all of them, but we Mormonts are a stubborn people and I suppose I'll have to take what I can get."

"And I suppose that if you are content with the situation, I must be as well." They stepped outside then, and the thin northern sun reflected off Daenerys's silver-white hair, for a moment taking Jorah's breath away. He composed himself quickly, something he was used to doing in her presence by now. He only hoped that she hadn't noticed his momentary loss of control.

* * *

Daenerys had returned to Meereen on Drogon's back with the might of most of Khal Jhaqo's khalasar behind her. Jorah had watched her arrive from afar, with the rest of the Second Sons - even Tyrion Lannister and Brown Ben Plumm the turncloak. He reminded himself of her marriage, reminded himself of all that he had endured throughout his banishment...yet in the end the sight of her, even from such a distance, nearly made him weak in the knees.

As it turned out, though, he did not have to go to her as he'd thought, groveling and begging for her forgiveness. One of the first things Daenerys did was announce that the person who brought her Jorah Mormont - alive - would be made wealthy beyond their wildest dreams.

Unfortunately for Jorah, Brown Ben heard the news first. True to his sellsword ways, Ben came to Jorah's tent at night and knocked him over the head while he was sleeping. Jorah awoke with quite a headache, and for several long moments did not know where he was - other than that he was in a soft bed, in a cool room...

Am I dreaming? he wondered...but no, that was most definitely a warm hand on his cheek, cupping it with a tenderness he'd not felt in so very long.

"My bear," Daenerys Targaryen whispered, before bending to brush her lips across the hideous scar that branded him a rebellious slave. "My bear, I - "

Jorah reached for her hand and clasped it tight in his, wanting to speak his piece before she could say anything more. "My Queen. I am sorry. Please, I...I am sorry. Forgive me, I beg of you, forgive me." He blinked, both surprised, and not, that there were tears in his eyes.

"Of course," she said, smiling. She was not crying, but then, when had she ever? She is so very strong.

"Why?" he asked, knowing that she would understand what he meant.

"I missed your wise counsel. You were ever my truest friend. And...I dreamt of you. You told me I should have returned to Westeros, as you'd bid me do so many times. That I should not have come to Meereen. And...you were right, in a way."

"No. You did what you needed to do, Daenerys. Don't ever forget that."

"Perhaps I did, and I will not forget this, any of it." She looked about her, and he knew that she was seeing outside of these walls, seeing the slaves she'd freed, the ones who had called her mother. "But now, my bear...now, I will take us home."

* * *

They made a long trek out through the woods; Jorah had suggested it and Daenerys had readily agreed. "I want to see as much of the island as we can. The hillocks and the ancient trees, the wildflowers and the bubbling creeks, the little villages and the windswept shores." Her smile was a playful one, and Jorah felt even more refreshed to know that she remembered so much of what he had told her of his former home.

It was a long day, but the exertion was nothing to Jorah, who had been used to withstanding the almost unbelievable heat of Essos - in full armor. Here on Bear Island even the summer days were brisk, and he breathed deep the fresh air, which had a salty taste to it even when they were a league from the shore. As the day waned they finally made their way to a high cliff overlooking the sea, a place he'd visited often as a boy, before he'd ever dreamt of the adventures he would experience throughout his life.

"I see this place in you, and I see you in this place," Daenerys said as they stood and watched the sun setting over the distant horizon, the gleams of its last rays sparkling on the wild dark ocean. "Are you certain that you are happy in King's Landing, Ser Jorah?"

"I am happy to serve you, wherever you are, my Queen," he responded automatically. He meant it, gods be good. Some days were more difficult than others, of course, and King's Landing did not have the fresh smells or wild beauty of Bear Island.

But it had her.

"I'm glad of that, my bear," was all that she said in reply.

And as the curve of the sun disappeared into the water, bathing the world in the colors of fire and blood, Daenerys Targaryen slipped her delicate little hand into his.


End file.
